


A Vision of a Brighter Love, I'd Kill for One More Day

by the north remembers (jaburr)



Series: Robb and Theon [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Motivated by the wrong reasons, Non-Canon Relationship, POV Theon Greyjoy, Possible Character Death, Robb is God's gift, Romance, Theon is a moron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 14:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18470794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaburr/pseuds/the%20north%20remembers
Summary: Theon had loved him since they were boys, and he stands here, a man, and knows he'll never love anyone else the way he loved Robb Stark.





	A Vision of a Brighter Love, I'd Kill for One More Day

**Author's Note:**

> If Game of Thrones was set in the 21st century Robb and Theon would be married thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Title is from All Time Low's If These Sheets were the States.

It really was a terrible plan. Theon can admit that. He decides it’s Robb Stark’s fault, if that stupid fucking asshole hadn’t ran off to war and married the Frey girl then none of this would have happened. He hates Robb. Hates his stupid beautiful auburn curls, his stupid piercing eyes, his stupid full lips that Theon liked to nip so much. He mopes around the destroyed, deserted Winterfell. Women beg him to take the Stark boys down, “Haven’t you made your point Theon?” He knows they aren’t the Stark boys. Theon knew those boys, two young sons of farmers, they used to play sword fighting with little Arya. She would be furious with him if she knew. Arya is tucked away in King’s Landing and the only person who needs to know what he’s done here is Robb Stark. He waits for a raven from Robb, any sign that he’s decided to come home and kill Theon for what he did to his family. To their family. Theon has never met Robb’s new wife but he hates her. Hates that she probably doesn’t know how to kiss him properly, probably doesn’t snag her fingers through his curls and pull until he moans singsong into her mouth. Theon hates it. He’s drinking the night the rolled up piece of parchment lands on his desk, a nameless auburn haired woman working the laces on his breeches with trembling fingers.

“Go on, get out before I send in one of my men to retrieve you.” Theon feels his sneer slipping, hands moving to cover the woman’s gentle. Her glare melts into a soft, shy smile and she runs out of the room before he can ask her name.

Not that it matters, Robb is coming home. Except Theon opens the little scroll, and the words scrawled in Robb’s awful handwriting say otherwise. Word travels fast, but the Lord apparently can’t leave his place on the battlefield. Theon throws it into the fire, paces and takes a swing of the wine he’s had tucked away here for years, downing the last drop. He looks fleetingly out the window at the light snowfall, remembers the summers.

He was chasing Robb through the Godswood, laughing because at sixteen there’s no such thing as responsibility. Robb’s eyes glittering at him, teasing. Theon fell in love that summer, fell in love with the way the rains drenched Robb’s curls, the smile that always hung off the side of his perfect lips when he’d see Theon coming from a mile away. He fell in love that summer, watched as Jon went to the Wall and Ned went to Kings Landing. Finally had Robb all to himself, had snuck into his chambers late after everyone had gone to bed, peeled off his boots and socks and crawled in next to Robb. He had just layed there, as still as he could, barely breathing. They’d fallen asleep together before, as boys, but Theon’s palms had never been so sweaty, aching to touch Robb. He’d fallen asleep, tense and every muscle tightly wound. Theon woke before the sun, groggily assessing, inhaled a mouthful of Robb’s curls and squeezed his eyes shut as Robb cuddled into his side, throwing his leg over Theon’s midsection and laying his head further onto Theon’s chest. He had just laid there for a while, trying to remember how to breathe, finally as his arm grew numb under Robb’s weight he’d shifted, and tried to twist out of the bed.

“Where are you going to so early?” Robb says, yawning and sitting up as Theon is tripping over his boots in the threshold.

“I had just come to see if you wanted to go to the springs this morning, I didn’t realize you were still asleep.” Theon feels the words come out of his mouth and it’s not even convincing to him. He’s a liar by nature, this shouldn’t be so _hard_.

Robb looks at him with that calm, unnerving wisdom Ned Stark seemed to carry with him like an extra appendage. “Then why did you sneak in here last night?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Theon feels the blush spreading, from the tips of his ears. It blooms across his face, a hideous shade of red.

“You got in bed next to me and lay there like a bloody corpse for at least an hour, and didn’t say a single word.” Robb smiles, hair messily framing his face.

“Gods, I thought you were asleep!” Theon practically shouts, dragging his boots on.

“And you didn’t think to wake me! I thought you were upset!” Robb glowers at him but it holds no real malice, he’s a gentle soul and Theon knows it.

“I wasn’t upset, Robb, Gods, I was drunk.” Theon quiets down, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to come in here, I just happened to.”

“Liar.” Robb swings his legs out from underneath the furs, pads like a cat to where Theon is fumbling with his boots still. “I would’ve smelled wine on your breath. You were breathing like a goddamn broodmare all night.”

Theon just stares at him then, barely an inch above him -Theon had always been taller-, breath catching. Robb tilts his head questioningly, opens his mouth to point out another flaw in Theon’s half cocked lie presumably, and he without thinking grabs Robb’s face and kisses him. Robb startles, but doesn’t quite pull away, instead brings his hands to wrap around Theon’s waist. They stand there for a moment, almost lazily kissing, until Theon feels he’ll fall over if he doesn’t sit down. He stutter steps a little, walking Robb back to his bed and pushes him down against it. He falls against the furs with a soft grunt, pulling Theon down against him, licking fire hot into his mouth.

He wakes up the next morning angry and with a splitting headache. This seems to be the new normal for him since Robb’s gone. He dismisses the other Ironborn, snarkily assuring them that he, Theon Greyjoy can handle pathetic Winterfell without their help. They ride for the roads, drunkenly following the call of the seas. And Theon waits. Robb must think him a fool, a regular idiot if he presumes Theon doesn’t know him well enough to know that at this very second Robb is carefully sneaking his way into his tattered home. He paces the worn furs in Robb’s chambers until well after nightfall, hears the soft jangle of a horse mouthing impatiently at its bit and knows it’s time. Robb bursts in a near moment later, blue eyes filled with tears.

“I see you’ve grown a beard since you took a wife, Lord Stark.” Theon bows mockingly, dancing the line of treason and lust.

“She seems to fancy it, in a way you never did, Greyjoy.” Robb grits out, and Theon saunters closer.

He smiles, wicked. “Who told you such lies, Stark? I loved you unshaven.”

Robb growls, shoves him against the wall, pinning his forearm against Theon’s throat. “You-you murdered Bran and Rickon, for what? All to get me here? You could have just asked me to come.” He lets a tear fall. “They were your family, Theon. My family.” Robb’s vunerable now, seemingly mourning.

Theon presses his arm, pushes him back until they’re flipped and Robb is pinned against the door, Theon’s hands at his chest.

“Would your _wife_ have let you? Let you come home to the man who used to fuck you senseless, _Stark_? Or did she not know what I did to her little Lordling husband.” Theon scrapes over Robb’s bobbing adam’s apple. “I didn’t kill Bran and Rickon, you absolute moron. I killed two boys, sons of farmers and paraded them around like the little lords of Winterfell. What do you take me for, Robb. A fucking fool?” He nudges a knee between Robb’s legs, spreading them further.

Robb just stares at him, like a fish gasping for water on a riverbank. “Theon-“

“Gods Robb, shut up.” Theon surges, keeping one hand on Robb’s beating heart and moving the other dangerously fast to tangle in his hair, kissing him like a drunk man downing his ale. Robb hums, a sound that makes Theon feel that he’ll crack into a million tiny pieces, yanks hard until Robb is whimpering, attacks his throat. He nips underneath Robb’s jawline, soothing the bites with soft kisses and licks, blowing on the hot skin. Robb breaks his hold for a fraction of a second, grasps his face with both hands and Theon thinks to himself, this is it. _He’s going to snap my neck like a chicken for what I did to those poor children_.

“I missed you, Theon. Gods, I missed you.” Robb kisses him this time, fingers roaming down to his breeches and teasing their way in. Perhaps he’s hallucinating, the people of Winterfell made one last valiant attempt to kill him and he’s slowly dying, imagining the one thing dearest to his heart. Then Robb’s hands, cold and long are wrapping around him and oh, oh no this is too real. He stumbles back, catching Robb’s hand and tugging him down underneath him on the bed. Robb is wearing too much, how can he stand all that goddamn animal pelt in the heats of battle. Theon starts peeling, layer after layer until it’s just Robb, his Robb, moaning underneath Theon like he hasn’t been touched in ages. He’s going to be Theon’s undoing.

“I hate her, Theon. I fucking hate her, and I think she hates me too.” Robb whispers, barely audible over Theon’s kisses peppering down his sternum.

“Then,” Theon says cautiously. “Why for fucks sake did you marry her.”

“The Freys agreed to fight with us against the Lannisters, as long as I married her. It had to be done, I didn’t want it to be but I had to.” Robb’s eyes are clouded, pain, wretched heartbreak across his face.

“Oh.” Theon provides, running his index finger over Robb’s bottom lip. He thumbs at Robb’s teeth, gently prying. “You’re so beautiful, Robb. Does she ever tell you how fucking beautiful you are?” He presses against Robb’s tongue, hard, impatient, then slowly pulls his fingers away, trailing down, down. Robb’s body is so familiar, every nook and muscle and vein. Theon wants to step out of his skin and mold into Robb, hold him forever like this, warm against warm. He presses in again, and Robb struggles to breathe.

“Not like you do.” He says, raspy.

Theon suddenly doesn’t want to fuck him anymore, wants to hold him like the Stark’s most precious of possessions and cradle him until his heart stops cracking apart. Theon thrusts then, replacing his fingers and Robb sighs, deep in his throat, blue eyes gazing up at Theon. Gods help him he’s so fucked.

“Don’t look at me like that, unless you want me to come now, fucking hell Robb.” He snaps his hips against Robb’s perfect ass, kisses his crown of perfect red hair and then those perfect, kiss swollen lips. He reaches between them then, fingers probing until they greedily stroke at their prize. Robb sobs his name over and over like a prayer, a chant and that’s all he needs to step, teeter and plummet over the edge. They lie there panting, breath mixing in the sweaty air.

“Do you-I-.” Theon never been one to struggle to string a sentence together. Robb’s weight is draped across him like a pelt, curls tickling his nose. He can’t _breathe_ , can’t stand to allow Robb to leave him for some woman.

“I can stay, if that’s what you are asking.” Robb says, dragging his lip into his mouth.

“Do you love me, Stark?” Theon hates the blunt emotion ripped out of him. Robb pauses, the ever sweet golden boy searching for a kind way to say _No Theon_. Robb props himself up on an elbow, traces his fingers along Theon’s belly.

“More than I thought possible, you oaf.” He’s shaky as he says it, still that sweet sixteen year old boy inside of a man, lost.

“Then stay with me, for a fortnight.” Theon doesn’t like the way he sounds, like he’s pleading.

“Won’t my poor wife worry about me if I don’t return to camp?” Robb gleams, kissing Theon hard again, pressing skin against skin.

“Tell them then,” He mouths at Robb’s neck feverishly. “Tell them the horrid Theon Greyjoy has threatened to burn Winterfell if you will not stay and protect your people.” He pins Robb against soft cool sheets, holds his wrists above his head. Robb laughs then, and Theon stops breathing for a moment.

“I shall send a raven in the morning, I suppose.” Robb slides out of his hold, resting upon Theon’s chest.

"Be convincing, Lord Stark." Theon smiles against his mouth. He kisses him again, gentle, heart thumping rhythmically against Robb's own.

Theon remembers the day they became men. Robb stopped laughing so much when Lord Stark went to King’s Landing. Theon spent every night with him, laying under the furs, twining their fingers together as Robb just stared up, the lines in his face deepening.

“He’s dead Theon.” Robb had burst into Theon’s chambers one night, funny how their roles had so quickly reversed, tiny scroll shaking in his clenched fist. “They fucking killed him, cut off his head like he was a traitor! He was good, Theon! He was so good.” He heaves a deep breath, uncontrolled sobs wracking his entire frame.

“Gods, Robb.” Theon held him, stroked his hands over the others back and soothed, kissing his hair. Robb couldn’t stop crying, fists clenched against Theon’s chest. It took coaxing, but Theon finally got him to calm enough to lay in Theon’s bed, curled into a half moon, blue eyes shining with tears. He was still such a boy then, Theon thought, barely seventeen years of age and yet experiencing such heartbreak it was unbearable.

Theon cried with him. “I’m so sorry, Robb. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve got to go, Theon. I’ve got to make them pay for what they’ve done. The North will not forget.” He’d shone with anger, shaking underneath Theon’s grip on his shoulders.

“You don’t have to go now, Robb. Not now, not now.” He’d woken up and found the bed cold, a situation that had become unfamiliar. He was alone, in the North, his home that was never home, so he’d packed without a word to anyone, sailed back to the Iron Islands. It was there that Robb had finally sent a raven, informing him that he was to be wed to that horrendous, horse faced _Frey_ girl and Theon had never been so angry in his whole life.

“Don’t leave me again Robb.” Theon whispers against the shell of his ear, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He knows that Robb does have to leave, He’s the Lord of Winterfell for fuck’s sake, and he’s married. Theon should have killed her instead. His heart aches, the pain comparing second to none. He hates it.

“I’ll stay, Theon.” Robb says, staring up into his face, chin resting on his sternum. The lines in his face are deeper, his beard fuller. The face of a man, but Theon knows where to look to find his Robb, the boy running through the Godswood with that half smile teasing upon his lips. Theon loved that boy, and as he stares down at the beautiful man sleepily smiling at him, curls askew; he knows he’ll never stop loving this man.

**Author's Note:**

> Really enjoyed writing this and dug the idea, thinking of possibly making a series? I feel that there isn't enough wholesome Throbb content out there. Comments, Kudos and any other constructive criticism are welcomed and sought after! Thank you for reading!


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